Samson
by DeimosFire99
Summary: "You are my sweetest downfall, I loved you first. Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth. I have to go." Samson - Regina Spektor


******PART TWO OF THE "_Spektography Effect" _Series:**

**I'M NOT ON A ROLE ANYMORE, so I decided to finish this first before I continued Leaving Home! R&R please! if the reviews go more than 10 i'll think about a sequel... ;)**

**The song is "Samson" by Regina Spektor.**

* * *

**Samson**

Jack sits, swinging his legs, over a large cliff in the South Pole. His staff in his hand as he summons the Wind to blow around the globe: more so in Russia, because of its constant winter atmosphere; and in Asia, to serve as the harbinger of the winter season. His feet dangle in the precipice that yawns below him. Jack, by now, had mastered his powers to a degree where simple commands like summoning the Wind to fly, hover, lift, and cushion were of little trouble, thus, his loss of fear of heights.

The winter spirit has taken to solitude ever since his fight with the Guardian of Spring. He has avoided North, the Guardian of Wonder, Tooth, the Guardian of Memories, and even Sandy, who has been his companion before he was conducted within the Guardian's circle.

He sighs as he feels the Wind caress his cheek, a calming gesture. He smiles a small smile as he grabs his staff and orders the Wind to take him to Burgess. He has long gotten over the fact that Jamie's grown up and, though he still believes in the Guardians, he doesn't pay that much attention to their individual works anymore.

He sails over the continents, countries passing by him like a reeling tape. He is assaulted by the smell of the seasons, of summer and _spring_. And suddenly, he feels that hole in his heart open once more. He lets the tears trail down his face as snowflakes but melt as raindrops before they fall to earth.

* * *

_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first, I loved you first_

_Your hair was long when we first met_

He sits on a branch near his lake, his back to the trunk. Frost emanated from his back and spread over the tree like creeping ivy. His staff is lying across his lap as he swings his leg back and forth, back and forth. He watches the still water of his lake, only disturbed by the leaves falling in and the insects that have come to make their home before the ice freezes it. He thinks of the sudden pain that engulfed him on his way to Burgess, the empty feeling that burned inside his chest and left him feeling breathless with pain.

He is smiling sadly, thinking: "There's progress, at least."

His mind slowly trails over the last time he's had pain bloom within him like that, almost three weeks ago. He rejoices—_why am I still sad about it?_—that he's slowly getting used to living without the constant presence and support of Aster.

_He's not mine, anymore. He never was. _

He accepts the fact again, like so many times he's thought of Bunnymund's name, he calmly, but firmly, reminds himself that the Pooka wasn't his. And that he never belonged to him in the first place.

He finds himself drifting over to the lake, letting the tip of his big toe ghost over the surface. Immediately, tendrils of frost and ice spread over the water. He lets himself glide across the surface, ignoring the buzzing of insects whose nests he prematurely killed. He doesn't care about that; they'll be dead in a week or two once he summons the snow down.

He continues to skate, remembering the bitter memories of heartbreak wash over him. He remembers the time he skated over this very lake weeks after Aster—_he's not mine!_—yelled at him for doing what he does; ice and fun. He remembers when he yelled at the winter sprite weeks after he took up the role of the caring boyfriend.

He lets his tears trail down his face once more as he skates, oblivious to everything but the ache in his chest and the cool tears that relieved him of it slowly, ever so slowly.

* * *

_Beneath the stars came falling on our heads_

_But they're just old light, they're just old light_

_Your hair was long when we first met_

He let himself drift off, watching Sandy's dream sand make its rounds on the Burgess skyline. He lay on Jamie Bennett's roof. The boy—now a young man—was out, out where, Jack knew not. But he didn't pay attention to that; he wasn't the boy's parent. His eyes close as he let Sandy's dreams descend upon him.

**|~O~|**

_Jack found himself lying in the arms of a familiar spirit. The scent of musk and what Jack of could only describe as _spring_ floated around him in the embrace. He immediately cringed away from the touch, wanting to distance himself from anymore aches. But the grip only tightened, and the sleep-heavy voice of the Pooka made itself heard:_

"_Oei," he murmured, burying his nose in Jack's snowy white locks, "What's the rush?"_

_Jack couldn't hold it in anymore; he succumbs to the warm, furry embrace as the tears flow down his face once more. And though, he knows it was, and never will be, true, he finds himself whispering in a broken voice:_

"Mine._"_

* * *

_And the history books forgot about us_

_And the Bible didn't mention us_

_The Bible didn't mention us_

_Not even once_

He thanks Sandy, but asks him why the Guardian of Dreams would give him that particular dream even though he was perfectly aware of the break-up he and Bunny had gone through just months prior. Sandy smiles, but doesn't answer, only choosing to hug Jack and promise him that it'll get better soon in his own language.

He suddenly feels bad for his friends, the way he shunned them out suddenly, even when they extend their comfort knowing he would need it right now.

And that is how he finds himself in North's workshop, with the usually jolly guardian silent and careful. Tooth sat beside Jack, her hands folded neatly at her lap while Baby Tooth perched on Jack's shoulder silently comforting the winter spirit with her cuddling.

North didn't scold Jack like he would have—_should have—_and Tooth didn't fuss over him like she would have. Instead, they quietly asked Jack if he was feeling better, much to the winter spirit's surprise. He nodded and moved his mouth to speak, but the fairy beside him beat him to it.

"We're sorry, Jack." She said, her eyes not meeting his as she stared at her folded hands.

"For what?" the winter spirit said, his eyebrows rose in question.

"For Bunny," North said, cautious, probing. Jack stiffened.

"What about him?" he said, he folded his arms across his chest tightly, as if to protect something precious deep inside. Tooth noticed the motion, and her lower lip trembled.

"He go too far," North said, his loud voice reduced to whispering, as if Jack was a fragile piece of china that could break if not handled properly. "We talked to him…"

* * *

_Samson came to my bed_

_Told me that my hair was red_

_He told me I was beautiful_

_And came into my bed_

Jack is flying over the Himalayas, his staff in hand as he summons the Wind to constantly keep on pushing him to the summit. He feels his energy waning as he nears—_why is it so high?_—but he pushes on, knowing that rest awaits him at the top. A window of opportunity arose when he finished spreading snow a little early than expected, and he took the time and planned to use it to rest and recover.

He reaches the top and the Wind lets go of him as she joins her brethren in their dance around the peak, carrying with her snow and ice as she caresses the rock and pushes on the snow. Jack laughs and the Wind howls in reply.

He wanders around and finds a small cave embedded in the surface. Thanking Manny for his stroke of luck, he goes inside, having to hunch slightly to avoid his head from hitting the ceiling. It does not go too far, but he is content. He settles down and lets his staff roll onto the floor; immediately, the bedrock frosts where his form makes contact. Jack huffs a breath of relief as he watches the Wind dance outside.

He summons a little bit of snow to dust the floor, making it softer. He lies down and snuggles up to his staff. Just before he lets Sandy's dream sand take him, he imagines a wall of fur embracing him, shielding him from the pains of outside. And he sleeps with a content smile.

* * *

_Oh, I cut his hair myself one night_

_A pair of dull scissors and the yellow light_

_And he told me that I'd done alright_

_And kissed me till the morning light, the morning light_

_And he kissed me till the morning light_

He wakes up to the bright refraction of sunlight off the peaks.

Jack sits up, his staff falling over to the side, its sound muffled by the pile of snow that accumulated overnight. He smiles when he sees the Wind outside, blowing flurries of snowflakes at the entrance. He realizes that last night was the first night he's had a restful sleep. And he smiles.

He doesn't know what compels him to do so, but he asks the Wind to take him to the Warren. She is hesitant, reluctant to relinquish her child once more. She is still angry at the Pooka who broke Jack. But Jack is persistent, and she notices the calm wisdom that was etched into his voice, and she complies, knowing that Jack will do what is best.

Jack is deposited at one of the many entrances to the Warren. The Wind caresses his face one last time before she leaves, knowing that her child needs this done alone.

Jack brushes off his pants and takes a deep breath; he is assaulted by the scent of freshly watered grass and blooming flowers, their different aromas wafting in to the tunnels. Jack is not afraid to face Aster, not when he knows that Aster does love him so, but is afraid of commitment.

He remembers North's explanation of the situation. It was surprising, but now it was highly amusing to the winter spirit. He walks on the grass and follows the scent of paint and the sound of Aster's "googies". As he does so, he remembers with more clarity than ever before the fight; the feeling of emptiness and the unbridled anger that simmered off the Pooka that day. He does not cringe, but takes it in understanding and patience, and with a hint of bitter sweetness.

He finds Aster sitting in the same spot like last time, painting his eggs with delicate care. The River of Coloring flowed—_ice-free and with no one to fuck around_—to his right as he approaches the Easter Bunny, knowing he was aware of the winter spirit's presence.

"Aster," he says; his voice neutral. He smirks internally as the Pooka stiffens, and he puts down the egg he was painting, half-done. The "googy" waddled around before it fell into the River.

"Oei, Jack." He turns around while saying so, his green eyes taking in the winter spirit. Jack notices that Bunny's posture is worn, shoulders slumped and ears drooped slightly, almost like he was tired.

"You look tired," Jack remarks, leaning on his staff as he looks the Easter Bunny over. "I take it you've been overworking again, hmm?"

Jack notices the wince that makes its way into the Pooka, and Jack mentally sticks his tongue out. But he reprimands himself, he is here to make things right.

"I talked to North," Jack begins. He makes his way to a nearby rock, and sits, his body facing Aster's. He picks up a blade of grass and twirls it around, paying meticulous attention to the frost that crept over. "He says _you_—" he points the blade of grass to Bunny who was staring at Jack like he came from another universe. "—have a problem with commitment."

"Mate, I—" Bunny begins, his Australian accent flowing like honey and Jack silently chides himself that his decision won't last forever, just until Bunny decides he actually wants Jack to stay, if not forever, then for at least _more than_ five months and three weeks.

Jack hushes him, and Bunny's eyes trail his finger as it makes its way across Jack lips. Jack notices this and he guffaws in his mind.

"I understand." Jack says, emphasizing the last three syllables. "I was too brash, letting myself fall for you so easily, and committing myself when you weren't ready yet, I'm sorry."

"Mate, _I_ should be the one that's sayin' sorry." Bunny asserts, his eyes burning. With what, Jack doesn't know, but it fills him up with pride.

Jack nods, taking the assertion in stride. He stands up, and Bunny follows suit. They face each other, and Bunny shifts awkwardly. Jack's face settles into an easy smile and holds his hand out.

"Friends?"

* * *

_Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down_

_Yeah, we couldn't destroy a single one_

_And the history books forgot about us_

_And the Bible didn't mention us_

_Not even once_

Jack awoke to the sound of North's workshop.

He had recently accepted North's invitation to stay in one of the rooms he had available in his workshop. And it's safe to say that Jack think it the best decision he's made. He sighs with contentment and relief at the fact that he has a place he can call his own. His heart slightly aches at the thought, but Jack dismisses it. He had made peace with the thought that he may never return to that place with Bunnymund, that place filled with warmth and love.

His mind flashes back to the day he came to see Aster. The Pooka's reaction to Jack's extended hand was priceless! Jack laughs out loud. But he sobers when he remembers Bunny not taking his hand, and his smile dies completely when he remembers Aster never answering his proposition:

_We'll be friends, from now on. Or at least until you man up—or bunny up—and know that if you do want me, you'll have to want to _keep _me. Capisce? _

Those words bounce around his skull. He finds himself mentally congratulating his success at getting the message out. He lies in bed, thinking about how it came to this. Did Aster really love Jack? Love him enough that he would want to keep Jack forever? Did he mean those words, those nights of warmth and love, those promises? He briefly ponders if this deep love was one-sided, but pushed it away. He firmly set in the belief that Aster _does _love him, but is just afraid of commitment.

Yes, that's the reason.

He closes his eyes once more, and immediately he feels—or thinks he feels—a wall of warmth cocoon him, wrapping him up and shielding him from the world. He follows it, pretending he is smiling to a wall of fur. He looks up and pretends to see the Pooka's face. He smiles and kisses him—_this isn't real_—. Then he slides away, grabs his staff, and leaves, making sure to turn off the lights.

_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first_


End file.
